<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Whisky Pants
     
     
     

Look, I'm not doing this for you, but for my own dark and twisted reasons. Oh, and because everyone else is doing it.

 
 

June 18, 2006

rode hard and put away wet

I'm too damn old to be having non-stop fun on the weekends. The only thing that's going to save me is the fact that the bosses will be out of the office for most of this week. And that I have Friday off.

Meeting Velvet was quite fun - it is so nice to be able to pair a face with the excellent prose. But my Saturday started far earlier than usual so that I could accompany TMS to get her wedding gown fitted and for a marathon trip to Ikea. I was able to sneak in a 45 minute nap before going out with a new friend (courtesy of the Brooklyn Freckler), who shall be named The British Bombshell. I lovelovelove this girl! She's teensy and can drink most men under the table. And, for some reason, tales of (near) incest don't seem so dirty when told with a British accent. How great is that?

The weekend was rounded out with brunch with a gentleman we shall refer to as the Chauffeur of Dogs. We're continuing to see other people, but you'd never know it by little love bite he left on my neck today. Now I understand why the guy at the supermarket was so smiley as he was ringing up my groceries. Shame on you, CoD! To do that to a girl in 90 degree weather is really unforgiveable.

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